


Disgusting

by KittenSneeze



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock - Freeform, Just teasing, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Not actual sex, Possessive Sherlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Teasing Sherlock, babies being cute, john being flustered, watson is an embarassed lad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 23:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14531685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenSneeze/pseuds/KittenSneeze
Summary: Sherlock is up late one night working on a particularly frustrating case, when John attempts to show some affection. (John/Lock)





	Disgusting

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I've sort of prefaced the story to be a full-fledged mystery, but if you guys want more I'll definitely write it out with tons of more JohnLock moments.

_ … _

_ Christy Famito. _

The name screamed up at Sherlock from the notecard placed on his desk, other papers of printed websites, newspaper articles, and citizen profiles scattered on the table or pinned to the walls. The messy-haired detective bounced his leg in his seat, head swimming as he went over the little details he had of the case in his mind. Cracking cases was a thrill for him, the harder the case, the more he got off on it. However, his knack for predicting people’s social habits or life story wasn’t going to help on this case, because he had absolutely no body to examine.   
  
No corpse with pockets to rummage around for clues, no known affiliations to assassination or smuggler organizations, no criminal record, nothing. All he had was a name on a notecard, and the knowledge that the person in question was deceased, or at least assumed to be. A murder case without a murder, or at least it was being called that. It would be more appropriate to call it a missing person case, but he felt she wasn’t missing, just hiding - but he had yet to figure out what it was she was hiding from exactly.  
  
He had successfully deducted certain information with a search of her house earlier in the day: she was a woman obviously judging by the name as well as the clothing in her closet, definitely in her late 50s after discovering the retirement plan pamphlets on her coffee table, also including the vast amounts of blonde hair dye, although clear it was not naturally that way because in old family photos, she was a brunette. With a quick dig of her bin it was obvious the blonde dye was a new choice, a sudden choice, one she hadn’t made before because every box found in the trash since then was a brown dye. Most likely to avoid recognition, to go incognito for something - but why?  
  
Christy Famito was an ordinary citizen, she worked at the local market as a cashier, she was divorced with one child who was grown, and was absolutely clean in terms of criminal activity. Not even one parking ticket or speeding violation could be found within the past 20 years. So why would she suddenly dye her hair, walk off and never return, only to be assumed dead and have her name placed on the doorstep of one of the greatest detectives in Britain?

 

Sherlock ran his fingers through his black curls, sucking in a sharp breath as he snapped his focus away from his littered desk. He leaned back in his chair, holding his head in his hands for a second before craning his head back to look at the clock behind him - it was 4AM, which meant that the market she worked at would be opening in the next three hours. He couldn’t do anything until he interviewed her co-workers for more information on the case. So he had three hours to wait, which was completely and utterly dreadful and boring. Not having a case to solve was an awful feeling, but having a case to solve and not being able to access what you need to crack it was far worse of a feeling. 

 

“Dammit,” he hissed at himself, snatching a dagger from the tabletop and throwing it at the wall in frustration. The blade soared through the air, landing smack in the middle of the yellow smiley face he had spray-painted on the wall for target practice, just narrowly avoiding John who had tiredly wandered into the living space only to duck as the knife whisked by his face.

 

“So just shooting at the wall wasn’t enough for you already?!” Watson cried out, his head still being instinctively covered by his forearms. 

 

“You should really be more careful walking around the flat, you can be very wreckless in your actions.”

 

Watson gaped at the other until he regained his composure, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “ _ I  _ should be more careful?! I’m not the one who constantly screws around with weapons in an enclosed space where other people happen to live!”

 

“Right,” Holmes cooed, walking over to the wall and taking a firm grip on the hilt as he ripped out the dagger, some of the wallpaper tearing along with it. “I suppose you had a pretty bad nightmare then?” 

 

Watson stopped for a moment, an expression of bewilderment on his face. “How could you have  _ possibly  _ known tha-” 

 

“Your reflexes, if you hadn’t already been on edge that dagger would’ve been lodged into your temple - it takes a person thirty minutes to an hour to come to their full senses after waking up - but you look like you’ve been up for a while judging by the bags under your eyes which means you’ve already had issues sleeping lately, and your hair and face is damp which means you’ve wet it recently,” he walked over to the other and took his hand, “Plus, your hand is shaking and it only does that when you’re being pumped on adrenaline. So you’ve either been whacking it or have woken up from a particularly rousing dream - and I don’t think you have any need for the first option when I’m around.” The investigator winked as he released the other man’s hand, John’s face of surprise slowly turning to one of embarrassment. 

 

“Pardon, what was that last bit again?”

 

Sherlock turned on his heel to the other, eyebrows raised. “This is why we observe small details, John. If you had been listening you would’ve caught what I said.” A devilish smirk came over the other’s lips. “However, I know you to be a good listener, so you did hear me right the first time, didn’t you?”

 

The shorter man fidgeted a tad in place, trying to look anywhere else but the other’s calculating stare. “Yes, I did, unfortunately.” Watson mumbled, finally meeting Sherlock’s eyes. “I thought you were married to your work?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

 

“Well, yes obviously. You are a part of that.” The taller man said matter-of-factly, sauntering back over to his workspace and plopping onto the chair. “Right now you’re doing me more good than this case is.” Sherlock grumbled as he folded his knees up to his chin, pouting in a very childish way that was not foreign to John. 

 

Watson softened as he noticed the other’s fit, one that he knew, that despite its ridiculousness, was Sherlock’s way of expressing genuine upset behavior. He walked over to the other, calmly placing a hand on top of his head of curls as he began to softly scratch at his scalp, running his hands through the black strands. 

 

Sherlock jumped a bit at the touch, icy blue eyes darting up to the other in shock, but he made no effort to remove the other’s touch, which caused John to grin. 

 

“What are you doing?” Holmes asked in a slightly alarmed voice, but still rather hushed compared to his usual abrasive way of speaking. 

 

“Showing affection.” John stated simply. 

 

A few moments passed, and it seemed like Sherlock was beginning to melt into the other’s hand. John noticed this and tried to resist a giggle that threatened to spill from his mouth. Sherlock must’ve noticed too (which was no fucking surprise that the detective was observant), because he slapped the other’s hand away, alarmed at how he was distracting him from the case he was so indulged in. 

 

“Disgusting.” He whispered, turning back around and focusing on the scattered papers once more. John just chuckled and shook his head, pretending not to notice how the other’s pale face was now a bright shade of pink. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please comment your thoughts - I love to hear them! Also leaving a kudos would be greatly appreciated. <3


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